"Miss Page is a
doctor; just got into San Juan to-day. She's a cousin of Engle. And
she knows her business a whole lot better than Patten does, besides."
"Will you get the fire started immediately, Mr. Norton?" asked Virginia
somewhat sharply. "Mr. Lane has waited long enough as it is."
"I'll be damned!" said Brocky Lane weakly. And then, more weakly
still, in a voice which broke despite a manful effort to make it both
steady and careless, "I never cuss like that unless I'm delerious,
anyhow I never cuss when there's a lady. . . ."
"If you'll keep perfectly still," Virginia admonished him quickly,
"I'll do all the talking that is necessary. Where is the wound?"
"You don't have to have a light, do you?" Brocky insisted on being
informed. "You see, we can't have it. Where'm I hurt, you want to
know? Mostly right here in my side."
Virginia's hands found the rude bandage, damp and sticky.
"It's nonsense about not having a light," she said, turning toward
Norton.
"No," said the wounded man. "Nonsense nothing, is it Rod? How're we
going to have a fire when my matches are all gone and Rod's
matches. . . ."
"Mr. Norton," Virginia cut in crisply, "in spite of your friend's talk
and in spite of the bluff he is putting up he is pretty badly hurt.
You give me some sort of a light, I don't care if they see it down at
San Juan, or you shoulder the responsibility.
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